Home is a Sheet of Ice
by Jayie The Hufflepuff
Summary: Hiding secrets from Sherlock Holmes is never easy. Molly Hooper knows this as well as anyone else. But she's been able to keep a secret from him for years - she has a passion for figure skating. And there is absolutely no way she is ever telling him this.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock BBC fanfic

Molly Hooper was the kind of person that spent her life unnoticed. Well no, that wasn't precisely true. A girl with a job like hers couldn't go completely unnoticed, not with all the cops and bosses that needed her work. Rather, she was unnoticed unless someone needed something from her. Other than that, she was just kind of there. There was nothing wrong with that, she guessed, and she'd gotten used to it a while ago, but it did get a little depressing when it took Sherlock three months to start calling her "Molly" instead of "you there."

The hospital was okay. The hours were atrocious, but Molly liked being kept busy. It kept her from having to talk to too many people, and it kept her mind off of other things. But it wasn't a home. She didn't really know anybody there beyond name and job description. Not that her actual home was much better. An empty apartment where you spent your evenings alone couldn't really be called a home.

But the weekend somehow made everything better.

Molly was working on a murder victim that Saturday, one of Sherlock's cases. Male, mid forties, not a scratch on him, signs of recent heart failure. She'd nearly ruled it a heart attack, but Sherlock had insisted it was murder, so here she was on her day off, trying to find a cause of death for a heart attack victim. _And who's fault is that?_ a little voice in her head asked. _You could have said no._

But, sadly enough, she couldn't. She never could say no to Sherlock Holmes. He was rude and tactless, but when he needed something from her he could be perfectly charming. Quite honestly, he didn't even need to be. She was almost embarrassed of how desperate to please him she was. Molly often wondered what is said about her life that her last boyfriend had been a psychotic murderer and the man she that had a hopeless crush on was a sociopath. Or so he claimed.

She was leaning over the victim, methodically checking over his neck for the needle puncture Sherlock seemed sure would be there. The great detective himself was gone. Apparently he'd popped out to yell at Lestrade about something. John Watson was still there though, to Molly's surprise. She'd almost thought the doctor was stuck to Sherlock's shadow. The coroner didn't really know Sherlock's flatmate that well, but he'd seemed polite enough the few times they did speak.

_beep beep beep_

Startled, Molly fumbled around in her pocket until her hand brushed against her phone. She pulled it out, stiffening when it showed her the time. _Oops._ The coroner shut off the alarm and turned to Dr. Watson. "Hey, umm, I have somewhere I need to be. Would you mind letting Sherlock know I've gone?" She suddenly found herself immensely grateful that Sherlock wasn't still here. He'd have found a way to convince her to stay. He always did.

John looked up from his coffee in surprise. The expression quickly softened to a smile. "Sure, of course." His gaze flitted to the corpse. "I can clean up here if you need to get going. I used to work here, I'm sure they won't mind."

Molly paused in her frantic attempts to get her paperwork sorted away, looking up at the doctor in surprise. She'd never really given John Watson much thought before. Somehow she'd just assumed that anyone who Sherlock could put up with long-term - and vice versa - had to be as rude and abrasive as he was. She hadn't expected him to be so normal. "Oh, uh, thanks." She managed a quick smile through her surprise, then turned back to getting her stuff together.

A quick cab ride got Molly back to her flat. A beat-up old tote bag waited in a corner near the door; she slipped the familiar weight onto her shoulder and left hurriedly. It took a while to hail the next cab, and by the time it got there Molly was getting worried. It'd be starting soon, and she'd really hate to be late.

Thankfully, the cabbie that finally picked her up was one of those drive-like-a-maniac-so-I-can-get-a-tip types. Slightly shaky from the alarming drive, Molly was dropped off with five minutes left to spare. Not much time, but she'd worked with less than that before.

As she approached the building, Molly glanced up at the sign above the door. In big silver letters, the words "The Silver Rose Ice Rink" were displayed in elegant cursive. The familiar sight wrestled a smile from the stressed coroner, and she entered the rink with the air of someone shedding their problems.

"Ah, hello there Miss Molly." The booming voice greeted her from across the lobby. The speaker, a heavy-set man with a friendly grin, sat behind the check-in desk. "Almost thought you wouldn't make it. Your session starts in five minutes." He chuckled at his own joke. Molly's attendance was regular as clockwork, and he knew that.

Molly smiled as she crossed over to the desk, setting her bag on one of available benches as she passed. "Just got out of work," she explained as she dug into her wallet. "One session, please."

The man typed her attendance into the computer and took her offered money with a chuckle. "Always nice to see you Molly."

"Thanks, Mike." Molly sat next to her stuff, grateful that there was a bench available this time. All around her figure skaters of different ages were milling about, taking their skates on or off or chatting with their friends. The relaxed atmosphere at the rink, so different from the professional bustle of the hospital, always served to take away from the stress of Molly's life, if only for a while.

The coroner pulled her figure skates out of the old tote bag. The white leather surface was marred by scuff marks and nicks. All the signs of the last year of wear. Still, there was a few months' good use left in them. Molly pulled her skates on and laced them up with practiced ease. There was a comforting familiarity to it. The stiff support the boots offered, the cool air of the lobby, the slight increase in height thanks to her blades. Funny, after having skated for so long, she had better balance walking on thin blades of metal than in regular shoes.

Soon as her skates were on, Molly made her way out to the rink itself. A rush of chilly air accosted her as she opened the door, turning her breath into a pale mist. The zamboni* had just gotten off, leaving a smooth, shiny surface behind it. No one had gotten on the ice yet.

Most people probably think ice is a shiny, glittery white like ice cubes, or a pale blue like in cartoons. Molly knew better. It was a dull mix of blues, browns, and whites that came out looking like some shade of gray. The newly smoothed surface reflected the shine of the overhead lights. In these moments, before the skaters came and scarred the surface with long white scratches, there was nothing more beautiful.

Molly let the stiffness that her stressful week had lent her roll off her body as she stepped out onto the ice. She grinned, her chuckle letting out a cloud of white fog. This may not be the rink that she had grown up skating in, and the friends that had once skated with her may not be here. They were all miles away in the country. But it was an ice rink. Here, on the ice, Molly Hooper was in total control. She was powerful. There was absolutely nothing like the feeling of pushing off of the ice, propelling herself forward faster than anyone can run.

Molly pushed forward, her blade carving a perfect white scar into the ice. She was home.

* * *

Yeah I know, I really, really shouldn't be starting a new story, what with already juggling four of them, but this is going to be a really short one, four chapters at most.

I got this idea today while I was at my local figure skating rink. I think I've mentioned before that I'm a skater, have been for the last eight years. It suddenly hit me that Molly seems like the type to be a figure skater. I have absolutely no idea why, except she's kind of shy like me, and I always feel my most comfortable at the rink, so I figured she'd feel at home there. As stated, this will be a very short story. If there are any figure skating terms that I think will be unknown to the non-skater, I'll mark them in the story and define them below here. Let me know if I don't define something you don't understand.

Oh, and the rink Molly skates at is fictional. Just so you know.

* Zamboni - ice resurfacing machine. Basically it looks like a big truck of sorts that can drive on the ice. It releases water onto the ice, which then freezes and forms a smooth new surface.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock BBC Fanfic

Most people Molly knew went to a gym to exercise

She figure skated.

Her life had pretty much always been the way it was now. She'd always been shy, which meant at school she was either teased or left alone. You don't make friends in school if you don't seek them out. Her parents had been supportive, but that hardly made up for a lonely school life. Add being an only child to that, and Molly Hooper was quite alone.

Except for the rink.

The Fear Valley Ice House was a run-down little ice rink a short drive away from the Hoopers' house. Despite the unpleasant name and need for repair, Fear Valley was where Molly found her first real friends. Laura, Sammy, and Missy weren't anyone she'd have imagined befriending at school. They were the kind of girls who were confident enough to have plenty of friends. But because they were all skaters, they shared something that allowed them to be friends.

Laura was the leader. It was the calm, confident vibe she gave off. Molly had thought of her as stand-offish when they'd first met, but she'd soon proved to be perfectly friendly, if one of the quieter ones of the group. Of them all Laura was perhaps the easiest for Molly to relate to. They were both quiet and loners at school.

Missy was the youngest of he group, but she was also the mos outgoing and memorable of the friends. What one person might mistake for youthful energy Molly knew to be simply Missy's personality. Everything she did, she did big. She laughed loudest at jokes, flirted with the most boys, was the most casual in addressing adults. Laura's confidence was a source of both admiration and jealousy for Molly. If only she could talk to people so easily.

Sammy was perhaps the most normal of the group, although, as Missy often reminded them, you could hardly be entirely normal if you chose to spend several hours a week in a freezing cold ice rink. She was fairly popular at her school, acted pretty laid-back, and was very good at ingratiating herself with people. She could work her way into almost any conversation with ease. Molly often wondered why Sammy had decided to befriend them. A girl like her could have picked whatever friends she wanted, and there were plenty of less socially awkward skaters to choose from. But Sammy had picked them, for which Molly was grateful.

As for Molly herself, she had no idea how or why she fitted into that group of friends. All she knew was that she was more grateful for them than she could say. They were the only ones who could draw shy little Molly Hooper out of her shell. Since the year she'd started skating, a petrified little nine-year-old, her friends had been there for her.

Years ago, before ever meeting any consulting detectives or psychotic killers, Molly had been getting her skates on while Missy and Laura were taking theirs off and chatting. Just another day among friends. They had been discussing their annoyance at the local hockey team for the loss of their skating session due the upcoming tournament when a joyful shriek interrupted them. They all looked up to see Sammy running towards them with unusual glee. She wrapped Molly up in a big bear hug before turning to Missy and Laura with the same. "I got in!" she squealed happily. "I got into my top choice!"

Molly paused. Joy for her friend paled in the face of her words. She herself had recently been accepted to college as well, but it was a different college than Sammy's, and it was several hours from where Sammy was going. They'd hardly ever be able to see each other. To top that off, Laura and Sammy were both a year below them in school, and probably wouldn't go to the same college either.

Molly faked a grin for her friend's sake. "That's great, Sammy."

The blonde nodded happily while Missy and Laura added their congratulations. "So, think you'll meet any cute college guys there?" Missy asked, batting her eyes dramatically.

Sammy laughed. "Yeah right." She nudged Missy with her shoulder. "That's more likely to happen to you, Miss'."

"And you're not even _in_ college yet," Molly added.

Missy threw up her hands. "Alright, guilty as charged." That earned another laugh from the group. Molly always felt at ease with her skating friends. So different from at school. She often wondered if it'd be better if she felt more comfortable there than here.

Sammy leaned her arm across the head of the much shorter Missy. "You and Laura best be joining me next year, you hear me?"

Missy shoved the blond's arm away with mock anger. She was used to the good-natured banter about her height, mostly because the short red-head countered it with blond jokes for all three of her blond friends. "Pff, yeah right. You can go to your freaky artsy school if you want, but not me. You know that my drawing skills only go as a far as a stick figure, right?"

Laura laid a consoling hand on Missy's shoulder. "Honey, I've seen you try to draw. Calling those stick figures is an insult to the stick figure community."

Molly chuckled. "Like you can do any better, Laura."

The girl gave an easy shrug. "Yeah, maybe not."

Sammy had apparently slipped away when no one was looking, for her voice sounded from across the lobby. "Molly?" They looked up to see her waiting in the doorway to the rink. "Isn't this your session?"

"Oh right." The girl scrambled over to the door. "Any chance Theresa won't notice I'm not out there yet?" Theresa was her coach. All of the skaters were fairly close to their coaches, and Molly was no exception. She was glad to have Theresa as her coach, but she was surprisingly strict about being on time for her lessons.

Laura shook her head with a chuckle. "Nope, you're pretty much dead meat."

"Charming." Molly gave a quick wave over her shoulder. "See you guys tomorrow." As she hurried onto the ice, dread washed over her, stronger than before. What would she do when her only friends were gone?

Molly blinked, and sixteen years passed. Valley Fear was replaced by Silver Rose Ice Rink, and the anxious teenager by a lonely coroner. She shook her head impatiently. _Come on Molly, enough daydreaming._ It had been years since she'd seen anyone from Fear Valley. Sammy'd gone to her art college, and Laura and Missy had stayed behind, and eventually the four had lost contact. It happened sometimes, but Molly sometimes found herself wishing that she could email Sammy or call up the technologically-challenged Laura. But she didn't. What was the point in dragging up a past that would never happen again?

Molly shook off her thoughts and focused on the ice under her blades. Being on the ice again brought up more memories – happier ones this time, simple memories of learning how to control the blades under her feet. She pushed forward, switching easily from foot to foot. Molly leaned to the side, riding on a deep edge, feeling the muscles that had been lying dormant all week waking up. Nothing beat the feeling of strength that came from skating.

When she was in grade school, Molly had been skating five days a week. She'd passed all of her field moves* before going off to college, and she competed* regularly. Now she was a coroner with busy hours. But no matter how busy she was, and no matter how obnoxious Sherlock was being about this case or that, Molly always took two hours out of week – one on a Saturday, one on a Sunday – to skate. There was a lot she'd do for Sherlock Holmes, but giving up her skating time – the only selfish thing she had, the only thing that was really _hers_, and hers alone – was not one of them.

That's why he didn't know anything about the skating.

It wasn't easy keeping secrets from the world's only Consulting Detective. Molly had been scared more than once that Sherlock would figure out that the bruise on her knee was from falling on ice instead of regular ground, or that her cheeks were red from the cold rink air. But he never paid that much attention anyway, and Molly had learned to be careful. She'd cover any bruises carefully, brush her windblown hair back into it's standard look, and do whatever else seemed necessary to keep Sherlock from deducing where she spent her weekends.

There were a number of reasons she did this. First, Sherlock probably wouldn't appreciate knowing that Molly was wasting hours that could be spent helping him with his cases. Second, it really wasn't any of his business. Not that it stopped him from prying into everything, or blurting out secrets that he wasn't supposed to know. But Molly rather hoped that this secret at least could be kept from him.

There was another reason. Molly hated to even think it to herself, always afraid that he'd read the truth of it in her face, like he always did. Sherlock was brilliant and amazing and beautiful, but he was also the most destructive person Molly had ever met. He didn't seem to be able to stop himself from alienating everyone he met. It was like he carried chaos with him everywhere he met. Every other word he spoke was an insult, and he had a knack for ruining Molly's day just with the look in his eyes. She knew he didn't mean to. He was almost childlike in his ignorance of social ques. But that didn't change the fact that every part of her life that Sherlock weaseled his way into managed to feel worse after he'd been there. Molly remembered what she'd shouted at him after he'd bluntly informed her that her boyfriend was gay. _"Why do you have to spoil everything?!"_ Figure skating was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. There was no way Molly was letting Sherlock Holmes ruin that for her.

* * *

Here's more of my Molly Hooper as a figure skater story.

Laura, Sammy, and Missy are all based on some of the friends I have at figure skating. None of them are based on any one friend in particular, however, in an attempt to not butcher my friends' personalities. I must admit I am basing most of this story after my own experiances at skating. I have friends at school, but I am most comfortable and accepted at my ice skating rink.

Oh yeah, and the name of Molly's rink is based off the Sherlock Holmes story "The Valley of Fear."

* Field Moves - an event in figure skating where the skater has to perform certain moves (no jumps or spins). Apparently they're not as big a thing in England as in the US, but I figured I'd include them anyway.

* Competed - competitions are where skaters are put in a group with other people in your skating level and each one performs a program with music. There are judges who will decide what placement everyone gets, and medals go out to people who get first, second, and third, etc., etc.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock BBC Fanfic

The ice wasn't empty for long. The younger skaters were getting onto the ice, plus a few more adults. Molly knew a few of them by name, but not well enough to say anything beyond a simple hello every week.

The local figure skating club, the Silver Rose Figure Skating Club (the SRFSC) wasn't an overly competitive club. Molly had been to rinks where the club's competitive nature turned skater against skater, but that wasn't the case with SRFSC. That meant that there weren't as many high-level skaters as there could be, but it also meant the skaters were more supportive of each other and more relaxed about competitions. It reminded Molly of the Fear Valley club.

Molly skated a warm-up lap around the rink, feeling the frosty air rush past her and cause her hair, pulled back into its customary ponytail, to wave like a flag behind her. After the lap she turned to assess the amount of traffic on the ice. There were a few younger kids and adults who couldn't move as fast and were keeping to the walls. There were maybe six older competitors who zipped around the rink at what to an outsider must seem like light speed. All in all, about a dozen skaters on the session. A fairly uncluttered session.

In her assessment of the crowd, Molly noticed a shorter girl practicing axels*. She was gliding backwards, head turned to look over his shoulder, her posture full of the stiffness of an inexperienced skater. Suddenly she stepped forward and pushed a few meager feet into the air before landing clumsily on her hip. She got up quickly, glaring at the ice as though it had caused her fall. Molly grinned as she recognized the situation as one she had been through many times before. It had taken her a little less than two years for her to start landing her axels consistently. It wasn't the most difficult jump in figure skating, but it was one of the most difficult to learn how to land. Since her skating hours had been cut back to two sessions a week, Molly had lost most of her doubles*, but she'd never let herself lose her axel. She'd worked too hard to land it.

The rest of the session was less planned out. There was no competition or test session* to work towards, so she usually just practiced old programs or field moves. It was good exercise, and it allowed her to keep memories of past competitions fresh in her mind.

Molly started going through the moves of an old program, the last one she'd had before going off to college. The moves were almost instinct from how many times she'd skated them. Back cross strokes*, cross in front*, three turn to forward*, fuetes*, step, mohawk*, cross. She didn't even have to think about each move anymore. It was just one fluid movement.

The coroner grinned to herself, glorying in the feeling of strength as she stretched through each move, each step graceful and extended. Molly was naturally clumsy, and it had been remarked on more than once, especially by a certain blunt detective. Whenever her lack of grace was noticed, she reminded herself that even though she was clumsier than other people on land, they would never match her in grace on the ice.

The minutes flew by, as they always did on those sessions. The cold rink air had made her hands pretty much numb. Her parents had always nagged her to wear gloves, but Molly liked how the cold nearly froze her fingers. It made her more awake, more alert. The cold always gave her energy.

The ice became more crowded as late-comers trickled onto the session. There were no formal rules or formalities on how to avoid crashing into another skater. It was all instinct. Molly sometimes felt it was like a dance as she wove through the throng of skaters, ducking past the people in her way and focusing on her skating at the same time. After twenty-four years, it was a dance she was skilled at.

There were only a few minutes left in her session when she finally got to practicing her axel. Weaving through the crowd, Molly glided backwards, her body tensed as she readied herself for the jump. She stepped forward and sprang into the air, immediately realizing she'd done something wrong. Her rather ungraceful landing, slamming hip-first down onto the ice, only confirmed that. The momentum of her jump sent her skidding a few feet; the coroner waited patiently to try to get up until she had stopped moving.

"Hey, you okay?" The words were followed by the scratch of someone coming to a halt behind her. Molly looked up to see an older teenager looking down at her with an air of concern. The girl - Brittany, Molly thought her name was - was a regular skater at the rink and a member of the club. Other than that, Molly didn't really know her.

She waited a moment to answer, shifting off of the hip she's landed on with a slight wince. "Yes, I think so. Just another fall, you know?" That was true enough. Falling was a common occurrence in skating.

Brittany relaxed, concern replaced by a grin. "That was an interesting fall," she chuckled. "That landing sounded like it hurt though."

"No, I'm fine." Molly got her feet under her and pushed herself up to an upright position. "Thanks for asking though, you really didn't have to."

Brittany shrugged easily. "Just wanted to make sure you were alright." She turned and skated off, quickly joined by a few more girls her age. Molly's grin faded as she watched the friends interacting. Ever since she'd started working at the hospital, she hadn't had many close friends. Sherlock Holmes was probably the closest thing she had to a friend, which was as sad as it got. She's had friends once. What had happened? Did becoming a coroner drive people away or something? Or was it her?

Molly got off her session far less euphoric than when she'd gotten on. Back to work and life until the weekend. Back to a lonely, empty flat, and long hours at a hospital and being head over heels for a sociopath. Back to being Dr. Molly Hooper, not Molly the skater.

* * *

More of Molly as a skater. This one was more about the skating itself clearly. Can I just tell you how annoyingly difficult it is to describe skating in a way that makes sense to non-skaters? We use way more lingo than I realized.

Only one chapter left, and that should be up in a few minutes.

* Axel - a jump with one and a half rotations. The skater starts gliding forward on their left leg, jumps up in the air, rotates one and a half times, and lands skating backwards on their right leg.  
* Doubles - any jump with two rotations in the air. This includes: Double Salchow, Double Loop, Double Toe Loop, Double Flip, and Double Lutz. There is also a Double Axel, which is two and a half revolutions.  
* Test Session - similar to a competition, but instead of competing against other skaters for a medal, you are being tested to see if you pass the requirements to reach the next skating level. Field moves and programs with music can both be tested at test sessions  
* Cross Strokes - when the skater pushes forward by crossing one foot in front over the other, then crossing the other foot in front, then the other  
* Three Turn - when a skater is gliding forward on one foot and turns to backwards on that foot  
* Fuetes - I'm not even sure I spelled this one right. A Three Turn when the skater kicks out their non-skating leg while doing the turn  
* Mohawk - when a skater is gliding forward on one foot and steps onto a backwards edge on the other foot


	4. Chapter 4

Home is a Sheet of Ice part 4

Sherlock BBC Fanfic

Molly had always known that there was very little she wouldn't do for Sherlock Holmes. She'd known it even when he'd informed her of Jim being gay, and she'd known it at that horrible Christmas party months later. It wasn't just her hopeless crush on him. It was loyalty.

John Watson had made conscious effort to bring those few people involved in Sherlock's life together. Molly was, to her own surprise, glad of John's friendship. Truth be told, she had been quite jealous of him at first – still was in some ways. She'd been there for Sherlock for years without any appreciation, but John waltzed into his life without any preamble and immediately became his friend. Molly had been more than a little envious of the seemingly instantaneous bond he'd formed with the Consulting Detective.

But John had been perfectly gentlemanly about the whole thing. The Christmas party, however atrocious Sherlock's behavior had been, had served almost as an induction into a group that spent their lives around Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson was such a sweet old lady, endlessly patient with Molly's bumbling attempts at conversation. Detective Inspector Lestrade – who insisted she call him Greg – was very quickly becoming a good friend. He was quick to supply sarcastic comebacks for Sherlock's typical bluntness, and was surprisingly quick at welcoming Molly into the small family of officers at Scotland Yard.

She had a feeling John'd had something to do with that, but she didn't mind. For the first time in a long time, she had friends beyond Sherlock. Anderson of course was rather condescending on a girl with a crush on Sherlock, and Sally was almost annoying in her attempts to warn her away from Sherlock, but the rest of them were at least tolerant of Molly, if not outright friendly. Lestrade, Dimmock, Gregson, and young Stanley Hopkins were particularly close friends to Molly in the months after that Christmas party. As coroner for most of the Yard's cases, Molly was able to win their respect professionally and on a personal level, and for the first time since grade school, she found herself feeling comfortable in a group of friends.

And then there was Sherlock. For all that Molly's life had changed, some things stayed the same. Sherlock was still insufferable, rude, and blunt, and Molly still felt herself stammering like an idiot around him. But something had changed between them. Molly had, with John's help, began to actually get to know the detective. She learned who he was past his emotionless mask. Maybe he didn't appreciate her any more than before, but Molly was there for him anyway. If she couldn't be his girlfriend, then at least she would be his friend, even if he never knew. Loyalty was all she could give him.

Which is why, when he came to her, a fugitive accused of murder, she didn't hesitate.

Greg kept telling her not to let Sherlock walk all over her. He seemed to think that she did what she did for Sherlock out of hopeless romantic devotion. That wasn't entirely true. If there had been any doubt in her that Sherlock wasn't innocent, she would have turned him away, crush or no crush. But she knew him better than that. She _knew_ he was innocent, he was scared, and he needed help. It didn't matter that he was rude and obnoxious. He was, underneath it all, a good person. So Molly would help in any way she could.

After all, that's what friends were for. Laura, Sammy, and Missy had taught her that.

She gave him what he needed for his faked suicide, and afterward she helped him get set up in a small flat near her own place. Molly wasn't sure how long he was planning on staying there or what his plans were for his unusual afterlife. All she knew was that she'd keep on helping him as long as he needed it.

That job didn't come without its consequences. Sherlock had affected more lives than he realized. Mrs. Hudson put up a brave face whenever Molly happened by, chatting away about things that had nothing to do with Sherlock, as if that would make things better. Lestrade, for all his gruffness, seemed very subdued after his consultant jumped. His smiles didn't quite reach his eyes anymore. The rest of the Yard was of a mixed mind about the whole thing. The general consensus seemed to be yes, he was a pain in the rear, but things almost seemed too quiet with him gone. Even Sally didn't take any pleasure in being "right" about Sherlock's lies. The first time Molly saw her after the fall, Sally had looked at her with a quiet expression, pity replacing scorn in her eyes. "I'm sorry," was all she said. As she looked at the sergeant in surprise, Molly realized that through all those times Sally had warned her to stay away from Sherlock, the officer really had been just trying to help her from being hurt.

It was the start of an unusual friendship, but one Molly was glad for, as Sally was one of the few friends Molly didn't feel bad about lying to.

Then there was John. Molly couldn't even look at the man anymore. The doctor was trying to pass off as being fine, but his eyes had taken on a permanent look of utter, soul-crushing grief. It was almost chilling how broken he was. The man who had first insisted on Sherlock's friends becoming acquainted now avoided them as much as possible. Molly was almost grateful for it – every time she saw him, saw how hurting he was, she very nearly gave into the urge to tell him everything. But she couldn't. It was too dangerous.

Molly was alone in her flat a few weeks after the fall. She was enjoying the sound of the rain pouring heavily outside when her front door opened without a warning. She nearly jumped a foot in the air at the unexpected creak it made. In waltzed a lean figure in a rain-soaked coat and scarf that Molly almost couldn't imagine him without.

The coroner relaxed now that she knew she wasn't about to be murdered by one of Moriarty's men. "Oh, Sherlock. Um, hi. What are you...?" She let the question trail off as she got a proper look at the detective. His face was gaunter than usual, his high cheekbones casting almost frightful shadows on his too-pale face. The coat seemed to hug his frame more tightly than before. Molly had to physically stop herself from gaping. The Consulting Detective's health had depleted alarmingly fast. "Are... are you alright? Er, do you need anything?"

Sherlock impatiently brushed his wet locks out of his face. "The question grows tiresome, Molly," he snapped in an uncharacteristically sharp tone. Sherlock was always blunt, but never sharp. He flung his sopping wet coat on the ground near the closet, stormed over to the chair opposite the couch where Molly sat, and flung himself down into it with an almost childish slouch. "I need to talk to you about the fake grave. You're sure no one will realize I'm not in it?"

Again? It wasn't like Sherlock to harp on details he was already sure about. "Oh. Um, well I've been keeping an eye on the hospital's records, and no one seems to have..." She trailed off as Sherlock's expression grew increasingly irritable. Molly leaned forward hesitantly. "Um, Sherlock? We went over this already." She let her tone ask the question she didn't dare to ask. _Why are you really here?_

Sherlock glared at her for a few moments before slumping back in his chair. "'M bored," came his muffled response.

Molly almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Bored? What'd he want her to do, juggle? Taking care of him in his destructive boredom had been John's job. She definitely hadn't signed on for this.

The coroner sighed. "What about all those books I brought you?"

"Dull." Sherlock groaned. "I finished them all. Next time, I'd appreciate if you left out those useless romance novels."

"There has to be something on the telly or online or... something." Molly had absolutely no idea what Sherlock was expecting from her. She'd never had to play Entertain The Detective before – most times he came to her was when he was being entertained by a case. Her admiration for John for putting up with this on a daily basis was growing steadily.

Sherlock lifted his head and glared at her with the sullenness of a child in a tantrum. "Please use the head on your shoulders before you speak. I cannot use the internet since both my phone and my laptop were confiscated by Moriarty's people, nor would it be advisable seeing as any activity online would immediately be noticed."

Most people would be fighting back by now, but Sherlock's swift speech always left Molly kind of dazed. "Oh. Er, right." She looked around her flat as if that would give her the inspiration she needed. "I don't know, what do you and John normally do?"

Sherlock flinched at the name of his flatmate, and Molly finally understood. _Ohh..._ "Is this... are you here because you miss John?" she asked gently.

The Consulting Detective let out a contemptuous snort that didn't really have any feeling behind it. "I don't _miss_ anyone," he articulated, his expression

Molly noticed the weariness in Sherlock's face and knew she was right. Quietly she asked, "Have you seen him recently?"

Sherlock turned away, not meeting Molly's eyes. "This morning," he admitted in a flat tone. "He... didn't look good."

The coroner remembered how John had looked when she'd last seen him and couldn't argue with his assessment. "Have you considered telling him you're alive?" When Sherlock turned to look at her she quickly tried to backtrack. "Not, you know, directly, I know how dangerous that is, but maybe just give him a hint? I don't know, maybe leave him a secret note or something?"

Pain flashed in the detective's eyes. "I can't. If Moriarty's men get any hint I'm alive, or see any change in John's behavior, they'll kill him. I... can't let that happen." Sherlock seemed scared of his own declaration, but there was no mistaking the steely look in his eyes when he'd mentioned John being killed.

Molly had never been entirely sure of what the bond was between Sherlock and John. Now she realized that Sherlock wasn't sure either. All she knew was that it was killing Sherlock as much to simply be apart from John as it was killing John to think Sherlock dead. There was nothing she could say or do to ease the detective's grief over losing his friend.

Molly got to her feet. "I'll, uh, go make some tea then, shall I?" Nothing she could do would really do anything, but maybe some warm tea after coming in from the rain would at least make things feel a little brighter.

It took exactly two minutes for Molly to realize her mistake. Footsteps sounded from the living room, leading into her bedroom. _Oh shit._ Leaving Sherlock alone in a room was practically invitation to let him wander wherever he wanted. The coroner rushed hurriedly to her room. "Wait, Sherlock, don't..."

It was too late. Sherlock was standing by her dresser, where she put her skates during the week. One white leather skate was sitting out innocently on the wood surface. The other was in Sherlock's hand, undergoing the detective's scrutiny. _Oh god, why didn't I put them back in the bag?_ Molly berated herself.

Sherlock turned to face her, his expression a mix of frustration, surprise, and perhaps even a hint of anger. "You're an ice skater." It was a statement, not a question, yet it seemed to be asking one all the same. iHow did I not know?/i

Molly shifted uneasily. Her skate was being balanced precariously on its back on the palm of Sherlock's hand. All too easily she could imagine it tumbling to the ground, it or whoever its blade hit getting hurt in the process. "Sherlock, could you-" The skate wobbled and her temper flared. "Just put that down!"

Surprise flared in the detective's eyes at her unusual show of anger, but he set the skate down without protest. He opened his mouth to say something, but Molly cut him off. "No, just... just listen, okay?" Something in her tone made Sherlock listen for once. "Don't you dare say anything. I know how you feel about sports and things, but just don't. Alright?"

Her burst of anger and self-righteousness was faltering. Defensive now, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I started skating when I was nine. I was pretty shy, but I found my first friends at my local rink. Skating's important to me. It's the reason I know how to be a friend, and most of my favorite memories are of being on the ice. I was really alone before I found skating." She took a deep breath, the truth of her own words steeling her for what came next. "I know you don't really care about sentimental things like that, but if you make fun of my sport, I will throw you back out in the rain." She meant it. There was a lot she could take, but if he was willing to make fun of something that important to her, she wasn't going to stand for it.

Sherlock looked almost dumbfounded. His gaze flitted over her in his customary, information-gathering scan. The slightest hint of a grin twitched on his lips. "Wouldn't think of it." He turned back to the skates, picking one up with far more care. "Leather worn, at least one year old, with more creasing around the ankle on this foot, so clearly it bears more weight than the other, so presumably it's the foot you land on for jumps. Scuff marks around the toe suggest..."

The detective continued with his deductions, but Molly hardly heard him. All she felt was relief. Sherlock had found out about her skating, and he hadn't made a single derogatory comment, despite his usual contempt for sports and dancing. In fact, he seemed almost fascinated with what he was learning from Molly's skates. _Something to distract him from not being with John._

Molly leaned against the door frame, allowing herself a relieved smile. Her two worlds had crossed over and n catastrophe had taken place. Sherlock had accepted it, so why not her other friends? She could invite Greg to skate with her sometime. It's be worth it to see the normally competent leader slipping and stumbling while she glided past. Or maybe John'd find some of her old figure skating injury stories funny. Heck, maybe Sally would like coming to the rink sometime. The point was she didn't have to live two lives anymore. She had one whole, worthwhile life. Friends, family, and a sport she loved. All of them together.

_Maybe I could call up Sammy, Laura, and Missy,_/i she thought to herself. _Maybe we won't ever be as close as we used to be, but that doesn't mean I never have to see them again._

As she listened to Sherlock's deductions, Molly resolved to do just that.

* * *

This chapter turned out way, way longer than I meant it to, but whatever. So another story finished. I promised it would be a short one.

So, as you could probably guess from the story, I am both a Johnlock and a Hoopstrade shipper. I tried to hint at both relationships without actually going into them. Mostly because I want this story to correspond with canon. That's why I made the mentions of how Sherlock faked the Fall and what he did after it as vague as possible.

I find the idea of Molly being kind of adopted by Scotland Yard adorable. And somehow I could see her and Sally being friends. Odd friends to be sure, especially whenever Sherlock's in the room, but still friends.

And does anyone else find the idea of Molly skating rings around a wall-clinging Lestrade utterly adorable?

Also, writing dialogue for Sherlock is way harder than it really should be.


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